


Mind Shaft

by Deannie



Series: Tails Inspired by Typos [1]
Category: The Sentinel
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1997-10-22
Updated: 1997-10-22
Packaged: 2017-12-31 12:26:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1031697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Deannie/pseuds/Deannie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blair's stuck at the bottom of a well--and Jim isn't doing any better topside.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mind Shaft

Damn! He must have drunk a lot more than he thought last night. And the bar had obviously been too smoky. His head hurt, his chest hurt... Blair Sandburg had one hell of a hangover, and he lay still for a long moment, trying to decide whether he should even bother getting up this morning.

"Hey, Blair?"

Great! He had to go in to the station today, didn't he? Jim was going to kill him, and the guys in the department were never going to let him live this down.

"Come on, Buddy, wake up."

Sure, wake up. Wake up and fight this hangover while sitting under those annoying fluorescent lights and shoving paper around all day.

"Come on, Buddy..."

Blair rolled over, eyes still closed, and hissed loudly at the pain in his chest. Damn, that hurt. Too much smoke in the bar, and now he'd be wheezing and coughing all day long. He took a moment to gather himself, and opened his eyes, steeling himself for the sunlight that should be pouring through the clerestory windows and onto his and Jim's bed.

What he saw was darkness.

"Hey Jim, what's the big deal?" he asked. "We get an emergency call from Simon, or something?"

He got no response, and tilted his head up carefully, mindful of its relentless pounding, and looked around.

He definitely wasn't in Cascade anymore.

The walls on either side of him looked like cut rock, and he could feel the moisture in the room. Or shaft. That was what this place was like. Just like the mine shaft were he and Simon and Jim had hidden from Dawson Quinn.

"Jim?" he called out, pulling himself up off of the ground he'd lain on and looking around again in puzzlement. His leg was starting to hurt now as well, and he suddenly knew that this had nothing to do with how much he'd drunk last night.

"Jim? Buddy? Where are you?"

He didn't get an answer, and he pushed himself rudely to his feet, swaying for a moment as his mind tried to figure out just exactly where he was--and where  _Jim_  was, which was more of a problem, as far as he was concerned. The tunnel behind him was completely walled up, so the only way to go was forward. He thought he saw a bit of light from that sector, and he hoped that he could simply walk--okay, okay,  _limp_ \--out of this place and try to get his bearings.

As he walked, he tried to get a handle on his thoughts. It wasn't the easiest thing he'd ever done, given the trip-hammer in his skull, but he thought he remembered Jim speaking to him just a couple of minutes ago. So where  _was_  the detective? Why wasn't he here? And where the hell was here, anyway?

"All right, Jim, come on. This is  _so_  not funny, man!"

Silence greeted him... Silence and the very quiet sound of running water.

He came to the end of the tunnel, and looked up in disgust. He was in a mine shaft--at the bottom of a well. How the hell was he supposed to get out of here?

"HELLLOOO!!" His cry carried easily to the top of the well--at least, it seemed as if it should--but there was no answer. He stood for a moment, looking around the tight little space, trying to find another way out. Climbing to the top of this well was not his idea of a good time. The damn thing had to be at least fifty feet deep! No, he'd look around for another tunnel, or, barring that, he'd go back to the one he'd just emerged from and tear down the wooden planks that barred his way.

No other tunnels were apparent, and the idea of swimming out in the small underground river that ran through the room didn't appeal to him at all, so he headed back to the place where he'd woken up this morning. If it  _was_  morning. The sky above the well was a bright blue, but all that meant to Blair was that it was daytime. Not morning, not afternoon, just "day".

The wooden planks were heavy, and well-set, and nearly twenty minutes of tugging and pulling had gotten him exactly nowhere.

"Damn, Jim," he whispered. "Where the hell are you when I need you, man?"

As if God heard him, a weak whisper of a voice filtered through the dank air. "Hey, Chief. How are you doing?"

Blair gaped for a moment. "Stupid question, man! I'm stuck at the bottom of a well. How to you  _think_  I'm doing?!"

"Just come on back, Blair. Come on, you can do it."

"Do what, Jim? Climb that well? I don't think so."

"Come on..."

Blair sighed, heading back for the well itself. "I've got a better idea," he said quietly, knowing that Jim could hear him even if the Sentinel was standing at the top of the well. "Why don't you build an elevator real quick, and I'll come up that way?"

"I have to go, Chief--"

"JIM!" Blair started running for the well, now, terrified that Jim was simply going to leave him here. "Jim, WAIT!"

"I'll be back as soon as I can, okay? Hang in there."

Blair stopped dead, looking up at the blue sky above him angrily. Sure, Jim, he thought coldly. Run off and get help. I'll try not to freeze to death while you're gone, okay?

Well, at least his leg wasn't hurting as much anymore. It still throbbed, but he could walk with almost no limp at all. He scanned the walls around him in frustration, noting that, while they looked fairly rugged, he didn't think they were sturdy enough to hold him if he tried to climb out. And the drop if the walls crumbled out from under him? No way. Uh-uh!

He slid down the wall and stared up again at the sky, watching a small, fast-moving cloud cross his field of vision.

"'Hang in there,'" he whispered dejectedly. "Sure, Jim. I'll hang in there...

"No problem."

* * *

He must have fallen asleep, because the next time he could see the top of the well, the full moon was centered in his field of view. Damn! His chest hurt a little bit more now, and his leg had stiffened up. On the upside, his head wasn't hurting nearly as bad as it had been. He rose carefully, hissing as his left leg protested.

"Hey, Jim!?" he called. "You up there?"

No response. Where the hell were they that Jim couldn't get to help in a day? Why couldn't he remember?

He sat again, wishing for something to eat, or drink, or sleep on. Aspirin wouldn't come amiss, either. He sighed, trying to remember the day before, hoping it would give him a clue as to where he was.

 

 

"Hey, Chief?" Jim breezed into the loft, carrying a load of groceries. "Wanna go out with the guys tonight?"

Blair looked up from his reading, and shook his head slightly. "No way, man. I have to get this grant proposal in by Tuesday."

"Come on, it'll be fun." Jim grabbed two beers, and plopped down on the couch beside his lover, handing one of the bottles to the anthropologist. "Anyway, you could use a break."

Blair considered it. Sure, he needed a break. But a night out with the guys meant a  _long_  night out, and he didn't have time for that. "Tell you what. We'll take separate cars, and I'll have to ditch out early. If I work most of the night tonight, I should be able to take some time off this weekend, so we can go camping like we'd planned."

Jim thought about it, frowning as he did so. "I suppose I could get a ride home from Simon. We could go together in the truck."

Blair shook his head. "Come on, man. You don't want me driving the truck, do you?" he joked. He slapped his lover playfully in the arm. "I'll take my car, and  _you_  can worry about crashing the truck, okay?"

 

 

\--"Hey Chief. I'm back."

Blair looked up at the moon, expecting to see Jim's head poking in. "Hey Jim! What took you so long?"

"... back... waiting..."

Blair shook his head, wincing a little at the residual pain from the headache. "I can't hear you, Jim!" he called loudly. "What did you say?"

"I can't... without you."

Blair was a little worried by the pain in Jim's voice. "You okay, Big Guy?"

"Please... need yo--"

Damnit! Something was wrong with Jim. That's what it was. "Jim, come on, man! You gotta help me get out of here, and then I can help you." Silence. "Damnit! I can't do anything for you from the bottom of a well!"

He listened to the silence for a long moment, trying to scan the walls again in the uncertain light of the moon. He couldn't climb those walls alone. What the hell was wrong with Jim?

"... Need your help, Chief... Can't..."

"Jim!" Silence, a silence that frightened Blair immeasurably. "Damnit, Jim! ANSWER ME!"

He leaned back, helpless, and listened to the quiet, waiting for dawn. He didn't think he could get out of here himself, but it didn't sound like Jim could help him.

It sounded like Jim needed more help than he did.

* * *

Dawn came quickly, so Blair knew that, once again, he'd fallen asleep. Now his head hurt again, and the pain in his chest had become a racking cough that nearly knocked him off balance.

"Jim?"

He didn't hear a thing, and the fear that invoked moved him to action.

"Picture yourself there," he whispered, a mantra as he began to scale the wall. "Just breathe deep and picture yourself there."

Okay, he thought, as he gripped the wall painfully and coughed himself silly. So breathing deeply isn't the best idea in this scenario. He stayed still, waiting for the hacking to subside, and again wished that Jim would just say something. Anything. He just needed to know that he was going to have a partner to come back to.

Twenty minutes of hard climbing later, he heard it. A faint whisper, disjointed, often unintelligible, but his lover's voice none the same.

"Love you, Chief... I can't survive..."

Blair closed his eyes at the weakness in that voice. "I'm coming, Jim," he whispered quietly. "Just hold on."

"...Hold on..."

The young man smiled, reaching up for another handhold. "That's right, Jim. Just hold on."

"...hurts... need you more than..."

Blair tried to move faster, but the well seemed to look deeper every time he looked up to check his progress. He reached up again for a handhold, and cried out as the wall crumbled before him, the shock of the collapse sending him falling toward the ground.

"Blair?!" Jim sounded stronger now, but terrified. "Blair?!"

The anthropologist hit the ground hard, his chest exploding in a pain so intense, he was glad of the darkness that claimed him.

"I'm sorry, Jim," he whispered, as he lost consciousness. "I'm sorry..."

* * *

> The bar was relaxed, and not terribly crowded on a Thursday evening. Blair smiled as he caught sight of Jim and the guys at a booth in the back.
> 
> "Where were you, Sandburg?" Rafe asked, pouring a mug of beer for the latecomer. "We thought maybe you'd bailed on us."
> 
> Blair smiled, nodding his thanks to the detective as he took a drink. "Sorry. I got caught by the phone, just as I was leaving." Jim looked at him curiously, and the anthropologist smiled at his lover's jealousy. "One of the students I was supposed to have a meeting with tomorrow," he explained. "She just called to tell me she couldn't make it."
> 
> Simon smiled at the facial interplay between Jim and Blair. They made a great couple, he decided, finishing off his own beer and reaching for the pitcher to get another.
> 
> "Hey, are you driving tonight?" Jim asked worriedly. He could tell that Simon had already had a couple before the others had gotten here, and he didn't need to bring his own captain in on a DUI.
> 
> Simon smirked at his detective's concern. "Joel's the DD tonight," he offered, as Joel held a set of car keys in one hand, and a coke in the other. "Besides," Simon continued expansively. "We deserve to celebrate tonight." He raised his mug, enjoining the others to do the same. "To Killian Joliett. May he stay behind bars for a long,  _long_  time!"
> 
> The group clinked glasses happily. Killian Joliett was a big-time arms dealer--uzis, grenades, bazookas, whatever he could get his hands on. Simon and Rafe and Brown had been working on the case for months, and they had finally gotten a conviction in court today.
> 
> "So Rafe," Jim offered, smiling at the smug look on the younger detective's face. "Guess you'll be getting that promotion next spring, huh?"
> 
> Rafe raised his glass good-naturedly. "I hope so. My conviction record isn't as good as yours yet, but it's getting there."
> 
> Jim chuckled. "In your dreams!"

* * *

"Blair? ...Please, come on. Wake up... Please?"

Blair groaned loudly, as he tried to blink the sleep from his eyes. Looking up, he saw that he was still in the mine shaft, hopelessly frozen as the pain in his chest screamed to life again. The dream had helped him fill in a few of the blanks from last night--the night before, whatever--but he still had no idea how he and Jim had managed to get out here into the wilderness, nor how he had managed to fall down this damn well.

And Jim...

He sat bolt upright, taking a moment for the spots to clear from his eyes as the pain in chest was matched by a new pain in his head. Jim had been hurt, right? Blair had been trying to get to him, and...

"And fell right back on your ass, Sandburg," he told himself bitterly.

Standing was a bit of a challenge, but he managed it. Looking up, he saw that it still seemed to be daytime.

"JIM!?"

"Gotta wake up... waiting..."

"Jim I  _am_  awake!" He waited for a moment, listening to indistinct grumblings from above. "Jim!? Can you hear me?"

"...right here, Chief..."

"Can you help me get out of here? I hurt my chest again! I don't think I can climb out of here on my own!"

Jim's voice was even weaker than before. "I wish I could help you, Chief..."

Great! Just great! Blair looked down at his chest, surprised to see blood staining his shirt. He lifted it up, and found a nasty-looking wound there, just to the right of his sternum. No wonder he was coughing so much, he thought to himself. A wound that bad... Probably bruised a lung. Funny he hadn't noticed the blood before, though.

With a shrug for his own inattentiveness, Blair looked up toward the top of the well again. He could do this. He  _had_  to do this. For Jim.

"...love you..."

He smiled at the whispered fragment. "I love you too, Jim," he whispered himself, worried enough about his lover to try this whole insanity again. "I'll be right there."

"I'll be waiting."

Blair ignored the crushing pain in his chest as he started to climb. "I know you will, Jim," he breathed painfully. "Just have to wait a little longer, okay?"

* * *

Jim Ellison sat, numb, in the ICU waiting room, watching the clock nervously. Fifteen minutes to go. Fifteen minutes before he could go in and see Blair again.

The same thought kept running through his head endlessly--as it had been for nearly three days now. He should have told Sandburg to take the truck. Good, solid, 1960's sheet metal. It would have been a hell of a lot more protection than that damn Volvo!

Especially against the two ton truck that hit it.

He sighed hugely, trying to stop thinking about his own drive home that night.

 

> Joel had ended up piling Simon, Jim, and Rafe into his big Explorer and driving the three men safely home. Jim and Rafe could pick up their cars in the morning, Joel had argued, and neither detective had been too drunk not to understand that he was too drunk to drive.
> 
> Six blocks from the loft, Joel had slowed, catching sight of the flashing lights of both ambulances and police prowlers up ahead.
> 
> "Looks like an accident, guys," the large captain had announced. "Think maybe we should--"
> 
> "Stop," Jim had called weakly. Then, louder, "God, Joel! Stop! That's Sandburg's car!"
> 
> The night had been a living hell from then on.
> 
>  

The doctors were cautiously optimistic for the first ten hours or so. The delivery truck that had hit Sandburg was only going about thirty-five miles an hour, but Blair's shoulder belt had snapped on impact, and the force of the crash had sent his upper body into the steering wheel and windshield. He'd broken his sternum and five ribs--one of which managed to puncture his right lung--plus the lacerations on his face and neck from the glass.

Still, there was--miraculously--no skull fracture, and Blair's heart looked to be relatively unhurt...

Which was why the cardiac arrest he'd suffered fifteen hours after the accident came as such a surprise.

After they'd revived Blair again--ten of the longest minutes of Jim's life--they'd taken him right back into surgery and found a sliver of rib that was too close to his heart. The shard was removed, but Blair's prognosis was nowhere near the pleasant "ten days in the hospital, sir, and you'll be fine" that it had been. He'd been unconscious now for another day and a half, and he showed no signs of coming out of it anytime soon.

 

 

Jim was shaken from his reveries by the gentle hand of one of the shift nurses, who smiled at him kindly, and glanced up at the clock.

Time to talk again, Jim thought. Time to try to get through to his lover one more time.

"Please, Chief," he whispered, as he entered the dark, quiet ICU ward. "Please wake up."

* * *

Blair pulled himself another eight inches up the wall, trying to gauge how far he'd come without having to look down. He hadn't heard from Jim in a while, and it was starting to worry him.

"Hey, Jim?" he called, not as loudly as he would have liked, but as loudly as the growing pain in his chest and head would allow. "You still with me, Pal?"

"...still here, Chief..."

Blair closed his eyes for a moment at the tired pain in that voice, and renewed his efforts to climb out of the hell he found himself in. "Just keep talking, Jim," he asked quietly. "Just let me know you're there, okay? Let me know you're okay."

* * *

"Simon's been asking for you," Jim said quietly, holding his lover's hand tenderly. "He and the guys were pretty shocked by this, you know?" He sighed. "You really scared us..."

* * *

"...scared..."

Blair looked up. Nearly there now. Just a little bit farther...

"It's okay, Jim," he called weakly. The pain in his chest had grown incredibly during his climb, while the throbbing in both head and leg seemed to be dying down. "I'm coming..."

* * *

"Come on, Sandburg," Jim whispered, reaching over to push a strand of wayward curls away from his lover's face. "Just wake up, Blair... If you wake up, I promise, I'll do all the paperwork for a month."

He smiled hollowly at his own joke. Even if Blair woke up right now, he probably wasn't getting out of the hospital for at least a few weeks, anyway. Jim would be stuck doing the paperwork regardless.

"I just can't take this much longer, Chief," he breathed. "Please come back."

* * *

"...can't take this much longer..."

"I'm almost there, Jim," Blair gritted, his chest in flames now. He hoped he was right--he hoped he  _was_  almost there, because the drop back to the bottom of that well was looking farther and farther, and he knew he'd never survive another fall.

Jim's voice seemed to be getting stronger now, and Blair used it as his focus, as he climbed that last few feet.

"Come on, Chief, I know you're in there. Just open those gorgeous blue eyes of yours, okay? ...Come on..."

Blair could feel the breath starting to dry up in his chest now, and prayed he'd stay conscious just a little longer. Some vague part of him knew that he wasn't where he thought he was, but all he wanted now was to be with Jim.

"Just keep talking Jim," he begged, tears coming to his eyes now as he pushed himself. "Come on, Jim... Help me out..."

* * *

Jim sat straighter in his chair, listening to Blair's heartbeat as the rhythm increased.

"Blair?" he called softly. "Blair, babe, come on... Come on, Blair..."

* * *

Jim's voice was a steady litany of encouragement now, as Blair somehow found the strength to reach the lip of the well. He looked up, trying to grab hold and drag himself to safety. When he realised he was too weak to do so, his own panic was enough to close up his throat, and he found himself gasping painfully.

* * *

Jim was on his feet in an instant, running for the door and calling for a nurse, before coming back to lay a comforting hand on his lover's bandaged forehead, as the younger man's body fought the ventilator that had kept it breathing for so long now.

"Blair... Lover? It's okay," he whispered soothingly, moving his hand to take Blair's, as the doctor came in to remove the ventilator. "You're all right, Lover... Just relax..."

* * *

The feeling of Jim's hand in his was an instant comfort, and Blair tried to calm himself, tried to hear past the roaring of his blood in his ears to the voice that he knew should go with that touch.

It was a long moment before he accomplished his task, but the words he heard were worth the effort.

"It's okay, Blair," Jim was whispering. "It's okay... You're going to be all right... Just relax for a minute..."

"I can't, Jim!" Blair gasped out hopelessly. He could feel a horrible pain growing now in his throat, and he could do nothing to stop it. "Help, Jim," he murmured weakly. "Please, Jim, pull me up, man... it hurts..."

Jim's voice was still the only thing he could focus on as the pain continued to build.

"Just breathe for me, Chief," Jim was whispering. "Can you do that for me, lover?"

Blair tried, but he was increasingly unsure of the success of his efforts.

Jim, it seemed, was not. "That's it, Chief," he whispered, the soft touch of a kiss dropping on Blair's forehead as the hand in his tightened its grip. "That's it. Just breathe, Lover."

"I'm trying, Jim," Blair whispered soundlessly, as he felt himself being lifted, finally, onto firm ground. "I'm trying..."

* * *

He didn't know how long he'd slept, or why it hurt so much to wake, but Blair Sandburg unwillingly blinked himself into consciousness.

The room around him was dimly lit, but it sounded and smelled like a hospital. He tried to remember what might have brought him here, but all he could think of was the pain in his chest, and the bandages on his face.

"Hey, Chief," came a soft, loving voice. "Don't try to talk, okay? They said your throat'll still be sore from the ventilator's tube."

Blair's eyes tracked slowly through the darkness until they came to rest on Jim's face, smiling, unhurt, but full of love and worry for his partner.

"Do you remember what happened?" Jim asked. "Just nod or shake your head, Chief," the detective enjoined quickly, as Blair wet his lips to speak.

Shaking his head took most of Blair's energy, but Jim seemed to really want the answer to that question. Too bad it wasn't the right one, Blair thought, as he saw Jim's eyes darken.

 

Jim schooled his visage quickly. It was okay.  _Blair_  was okay. He was just fuzzy from the painkillers, right? The doctors hadn't said anything about memory loss.

He grabbed his lover's hand gently and squeezed. "It's okay, Chief," he whispered. "Just get some sleep. They're going to move you out of here in a little bit. Get you a bigger room--all to yourself, this time, I promise." He smiled at his partner's attempted grimace. "Just rest, okay?" he asked again, resuming his seat, but never relinquishing his hold on Blair's hand. "I'll be right here, Chief," he promised quietly. "I won't let go..."

 

No, Blair thought muzzily, starting to drift again, despite himself. No, Jim. Don't let go... Don't ever let go...

* * *  
The End


End file.
